


Seny i Rauxa

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an incident recounted in Chapter Ten of <i>The Surgeon's Mate,</i> a young Stephen Maturin accompanies his godfather on an errand that thrusts him into a maelstrom of Catalan intrigue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seny i Rauxa

Stephen Maturin hurried into the library at Ullastret looking for two books he had left there and his cousin, Laetitia d’Ullastret i d’Empordà, who was sitting in the window seat tatting lace, smiled sweetly at him as he came in.

"Oh, good, Esteban, I need for you to go down to the stables immediately and fetch my riding gloves. I left them there in Dídac's stall yesterday and la Vella Maria is going to mend them now,” Laetitia said.

“I ask your pardon, Cousin, as I cannot, for I must pack a bag to go to Barcelona as soon as I might,” Stephen said, looking in the divan for the books he had left there. She was extremely displeased.

“Barcelona? Now? With whom -- who is taking you?”

“Your _papà._ ”

"Why do you think you will be going with _Papà_ to Barcelona?" Laetitia said, her face looking as much like a violent thunderstorm as was possible in a human being.

"Because _Pare_ just said so," Stephen said. He was thirteen and she was fifteen. She was dressed in pale blue silk with pearls that extended to the neckline of her dress. The words were not completely out of his mouth and he knew she was about to put him under the harrow, as her beautiful face contracted in wrath, her black brows knit in fury.

 _""Pare? Pare?"_ Who do you think you are, Esteban Maturin y Domanova? Perhaps the problem is that you do not actually know who you are, since you have so many different names. No one even knows what your real name is or if you are in truth Catalan instead of one of them, un _castellà_ with your _castellà_ name, since your father was a soldier for them." This was one of the ways she needled him, always calling him "Esteban" even when Ramón had told her years ago to call Stephen by the Catalan form of his Christian name, "Esteven." "You do not call my _papà "Pare."_ You insult me by calling him _"Pare,"_ because then you, a bastard, would be my brother. He is _el meu_   _pare_ , not yours. You call him Don Ramón or I shall tell him you insulted me." Stephen was silent. Finally he looked away from her when he spoke.

"Forgive me, Laetitia, I misspoke. I meant to say " _el teu pare_."" She looked at him spitefully.

"You wish he were your father. But he is not and he never will be. My _papà_ does not have any bastards running around." Stephen's face blanched and his hand trembled as his lips tightened. Laetitia laughed seeing his expression and they both looked up to see Ramón d’Ullastret i Casademón rushing in.

"Esteve, here you are, dear _fillol_ ; you should go now and pack your bag or I can ask la Vella Maria to do it. Quickly, though, we leave in less than half an hour."

"Yes, Don Ramón." Ramón looked at him in surprise.

"What is this "Don Ramón" business? I thought we are very old friends by now, _el_   _meu fill_. Call me only _Padrí_ or Ramón," Ramón said, pulling Stephen to him and kissing the top of his head. Laetitia's eyes widened, she frowned and then she doubled over, clutching her belly and moaned.

" _Papà_ , you cannot go to Barcelona now. My stomach hurts so, I feel as though I may die!"

"Oh, my poor girl," Ramón said, "la Vella Maria knows all about female problems. Esteven and I will just be in the way. We must leave immediately to arrange the details of Esteven's confirmation at Sant Cugat, since we might meet up with Archbishop Mejia now. I may be detained, _preciosita_ , but we should be back in three weeks at most."

"Three weeks!" she wailed. "No, _Papà_! You cannot go."

"We must, my sweet," he said, kissing her forehead.

" _Papà_ , Esteban just told me he believes you are his real father and that he hates Ciarán Maturin," Laetitia blurted out, as though the strain of keeping such a secret were too much for her. Stephen stared at her. She was the most accomplished liar he had ever observed. He thought Satan himself, the Father of Lies, could not hold a candle to her. She could say she saw the sun rise at nightfall and set in the morning and no one would ever for one second doubt her belief in the truth of her words.

"But that is nonsense," Ramón said, looking at Stephen with surprise. "Esteve, _el meu fill,_ could you have said such a thing?"

"He did," Laetitia said, "He did, _Papà_ and I was shocked that he could say such very wicked things."

"I think Laetitia misunderstood me," Stephen said. "I said you are so good you are like a real father and that I hate it that Ciarán died." Ramón looked into his very serious face and kissed his forehead.

"You are as a real son to me. I could not be any more fortunate and your father would be very proud. Now go pack your bag."

 _"Gràcies, Padrí,"_ Stephen said, not daring to look at Laetitia's face, feeling the heat of her anger radiating towards him as he left the library without his books.

 

They were saddling the horses to leave when they heard the high pitched screaming coming from up in the direction of Laetitia's bedchamber. Stephen stopped.

"It is just la Laetitia having another _enrabiada,_ " Ramón said. "My God, that girl can scream. Poor girl, she has had a hard time of it since her mother died. Pray be sweet and patient with her, Esteven, even when she is trying." Stephen apparently frowned because en Ramón touched his hand. "Esteve, what is troubling you? You must always feel free to ask me any question. Do not hesitate," Ramón said and they mounted as the grooms held the reins for them. They rode in silence away from Ullastret for several minutes and Stephen reined Laia closer to Dídac and spoke.

_“Padrí?”_

“Yes?”

“Why do I have so many names?” Ramón looked at him. “When I first came to Ullastret, you called me Esteban and you still sometimes call me Esteban. And my surname was Maturin y Domanova. But you also call me “Esteven” and “Esteve” and you wrote my name as “Esteven Maturin i Domanova” on the papers for Sant Cugat and no one at Sant Cugat ever calls me Esteban. Then you told that priest from France that my name was “Etienne Maturin et Domanova.” When I was in Ireland, they called me Stíofán. What is my actual name?” Ramón sighed.

“They are all your name. Your father named you “Esteban Maturin y Domanova,” because he thought it would be more useful throughout Spain for your name to written in the Castilian form and that was the name your passport was written in as an infant for when we took you to Ireland. Your baptismal certificate has your name in the Catalan form. In Catalunya with us, we call you “Esteven Maturin i Domanova,” for that is your name in Catalan. “Etienne” is French for your Christian name. They called you “ Stíofán” in Ireland, your father told your wet nurse that was your name, for that is your name in Irish.

"La Laetitia said I do not have a real name, that no one knows my real name." Ramón laughed.

"She says a lot of foolishness. She has no idea what she is talking about. Do not listen to her, _fillol._ Your mother was Catalan and she gave you a Catalan name. Your name was Castilian on your passport. It may be a great convenience some day, having more than one official name. I now wish I had more than one name."

"Will we stay with _Oncle_ Mateu in Barcelona?"

"We are not staying in Barcelona."

"We are not?"

"No. We go to Tarragona first," Ramón said. "I have business there, but there is a need for discretion. I appreciate it greatly, Esteve, that you did not say anything in front of la Laetitia about knowing nothing about your confirmation." He sighed. "You are a very astute boy, far ahead of your years. You are singularly reticent, Esteve, _el_   _meu fill_ and I honour you for it. Your father would be very proud. You have seen men come and go in Ullastret now for years, men from all over Catalunya: our neighbours from other parts of Empordà, from the rest of Girona, from Lleida, from Barcelona, from all over Catalunya. I think you have a fairly good understanding that Catalunya has been increasingly under the heel of Madrid since1640 but unbearably so for the last sixty years. We have been the victims of and the involuntary purse to fund Castilian aggression and advance Castilian empire. We meet because we seek to advance the cause of Catalan autonomy." Stephen nodded. "I have a duty to perform, a very delicate task. I bring you because I feel the time is right and you can assist me and do me a very great service, my dear. We seek allies in all quarters to help us advance the cause of Catalan autonomy. Castilla is not going to just give us that freedom. We have to fight for it along the way. But we cannot do so openly, that is not the way these days, not for now. We gather information now and make alliances. Unfortunately, given the discretion and secrecy, it makes it the case that men of poor character, no loyalty and a high degree of greed betray the trust of their fellows, acting as informers. There are such vermin everywhere, Esteven, never forget it," Ramón said. "The information such creatures are in the business of trafficking endangers the lives of every single man involved in our struggle. That is why we must ride hard now. We get fresh horses in Blanes and then ride on to Barcelona. We will be getting fresh horses every forty miles that we might. It will take us a very long time to get there -- perhaps ten days travel, in all likelihood, even riding ten hours a day. At least the weather is fair."

"Where are we going?" Stephen asked quietly.

"Madrid, _el_   _meu fill._ " Stephen was amazed. He had never been to Castilla-La Mancha, had not known en Ramón to go as far as Madrid personally, preferring to send one of his retainers whenever possible. He could not imagine what would compel his godfather to actually go to Madrid and bring him in tow, but evidently it was a matter of grave importance considering how long they were riding. Ramón was a superb horseman and always preferred to ride over taking a chaise if there were little dunnage to be carried. Stephen was not such a superb horseman, but Laia liked him and he was very light. He hoped his next mount in Blanes would be as compliant and good natured. He preferred riding Ramón's Catalan donkey, Panxa, to most horses, but they were slow animals with great stamina, no good for covering forty miles in five hours. Laia was enjoying their ride, she tossed her head as though she were laughing after Stephen leaned forward and spoke endearments to her, just as Ramón had taught him to whisper to her and breathe into her nose to calm her.

In Blanes, they gave the reins to the grooms and Stephen watched as Ramón whispered into Dídac's ears, caressing him as he bade him farewell, a tear in his eye. Ramón had taught Stephen to only trust his horses to a groom that he personally knew and it clearly pained him to leave his two favourites there, though they would be taken back to Ullastret the next day. He gave Stephen an apple to give to Laia. Stephen scratched her ears as she ate and then they went to their fresh mounts and set off towards Barcelona.

“ _El_ m _eu fill_ , what you do not know is that there is a price on my head, a quite healthy price, eight hundred _escudos_. I am completely safe in Catalunya and I believe we shall be quite safe throughout most of Aragon. But once we are in Castilla-La Mancha, it will be another story," Ramón said, as they stopped to let the horses drink. He passed Stephen the _bota_ of Empordà to slake his thirst. "We are going to pass through by playing parts if any official should approach. I shall be your uncle, your feeble minded uncle and you are taking me from our home in Aragon to points increasingly west in Castile until we are in Madrid because my sister, your aunt died. Speak Castilian like you are from Aragon now for me.” Stephen did so. “Excellent. No one should ever take you for anything but _un aragonès_. How do you come to speak so well?”

“Eustachio at Sant Cugat is from Zaragoza.” Stephen said. “I just think of how he speaks and holds his mouth and then I do the same myself to talk like him.”

“Your ear is without equal, Esteve.” Ramón said. "I think your speech shall do us quite well, if need be."

After they left Tarragona, the days ran together, day after day of interminable riding. Stephen fell asleep exhausted and sore each night on the ground next to Ramón and dreamt he was in the saddle, mountains stretching out interminably before him. They were riding ten hours a day. Crossing the _serras_ to get to the plains of La Mancha was grueling for both mount and rider. It was slow going but Ramón drove them on and on.

Stephen did not ask why they were going to Madrid. It was clearly a matter of great import if it required this degree of effort. He was sensible of the honour paid to him that Ramón esteemed him so very highly as to take him along. Ramón spent much of the time they spent riding in silence, though he pointed out key fauna and flora and taught Stephen advanced tracking skills. He instructed him as well in evasive action, showing him how to not be seen, how to not leave any trace, lecturing him on the key points of going to ground. They passed patrols countless times in the _serras_ but Ramón ensured that they evaded them. His beard was growing very quickly without his twice daily shave and even Stephen was finding it difficult to reconcile him with his usual immaculate appearance, thinking that even Laetitia would not now know him, his dueling scar now invisible below his thick black beard, his clothes the drab and soiled attire of peasants, not his usual pristine and colourful finery. Stephen, too, wore the clothes of peasants once they entered Aragon.

It was much harder to remain invisible once they had reached the great open plains of La Mancha, yet they were stopped only once in Tarancón. They had switched to donkeys and mules once they had crossed into La Mancha, to better match their appearance as peasants. Stephen was riding ahead with En Ramón's mule tethered to his own as they trotted slowly. A _cabo_ on patrol hailed them and Stephen reined up and stopped. The _cabo_ was very dark and most certainly of Moorish extraction, Stephen thought as he approached them in a curiously immaculate uniform.

"From whence do you come, boy?" the _cabo_ said, his speech markedly Andalusian, looking them over. They were riding broken down mules and were both filthy. En Ramón's beard was covered with saliva as he had drooled copiously chewing a quid of tobacco as they approached the patrol, his head hanging, his face twitched disturbingly and he scratched at his head and his chest violently. The cabo's nose wrinkled in distaste and he took a step back, convinced of their lousiness.

"Albarracín. Pray sir, is this the way to Carabaña? Is it far? We have ridden for four days and I fear the mules will die and they are the blacksmith's and he shall beat me and Mother shall as well, oh woe to me, Holy Mother of God," Stephen said, piteously.

"Yes, child, you are almost there, God willing. _Ojalá_ that you would make it -- you must rest those animals -- rest them when you get to the stream, _hijo_. There is one a half mile ahead. What is your business?"

"My _Tía_ María de Gracia died. This is her brother, my poor _Tío_ José. He is a mute and," Stephen whispered, _"un imbécil, Señor._ Mother charged me to take him to her brother in Carabaña. _Por favor_ , pray do not stare at him, _Señor_ , or he shall wet himself again in fear and his only other _pantalones_ are still sodden." The soldier turned and spat.

"Poor _lavincompáe_ \-- well, who can question the wisdom of God? _Vaya con Dios, chico_ , and let those mules rest. Poor people," the cabo muttered walking away from them, "where is Your mercy, eh? _Maldita sea madre de dios."_ He cursed.

They arrived on the outskirts of Madrid, on the banks of the Rio Jarama and they both washed and changed into clean clothes. Now alone, Ramón roared with laughter at Stephen’s exchange with the _cabo_ and clapped him on the back.

 _“Ai, el meu fill -- déu n’hi do_ cunning as a fox: _tu ets català_ through and through, full of s _eny i rauxa_.” Stephen was pleased but restrained his smile and that made Ramón happier still.

They rode the mules at a walk into the outlying town of Loeches, where they rested in an inn and obtained fresh horses to ride into Madrid later that evening. Stephen was surprised so close to Madrid that everyone with whom Ramón spoke were Catalans, though these conversations only occurred behind closed doors. It was good to lie down in a real bed, but all too soon, he and Ramón were mounting their horses to ride into Madrid itself, fifteen miles away. It took them two hours and Stephen took in the sights of Madrid, looking at the Classical, Baroque, Churrigueresque and new Neo-Classical buildings, so different from Barcelona, as different as the climate, for the June heat and dryness of the city made him extremely thirsty. Finally, they were at their destination. It was just before midnight when they dismounted near la Basilica Pontificia de San Miguel on la Calle de San Justo. Ramón had Stephen tie the horses out under some trees in a recessed garden, out of sight.

"Stay here, _el meu fill,_ and speak to no one unless you absolutely must. I shall be back very shortly," Ramón said very quietly, taking a small bag with him. “I will be two houses away.”

Stephen sat on the ground looking at the church. It was very quiet, though the bells tolled midnight and Stephen could hear street sounds far in the distance. He said an _Ave Maria_ , for he had prayed little in the preceding ten days. He was drowsy and hoped Ramón would return soon, before he fell asleep. The night air was quite warm. He longed to lie down and fall asleep beneath the trees but he would not dare to close his eyes.

Then startlingly soon, in less than one half hour, Ramón was back. Stephen rose from beneath the trees and looked at him in the bright moonlight. His hands were bloody and he wiped them on his shirt, which was bloody as well. He motioned and Stephen handed him the sack from the saddle bag. Under the trees in the dark, he stripped off his shirt, washed his hands with the _bota_ of white wine and put on a clean shirt.

Stephen looked at him somberly and they mounted their horses in silence and rode slowly and steadily into the blackness, east. They first stopped by the banks of the confluence of the Rios Henare and Jarama and Ramón dismounted, took Stephen's horse and tied both their mounts and Stephen dismounted so they could rest and eat. They sat in silence in the dark eating.

"We ride back to Loeches, " Ramón said, "to rest until daybreak and change horses there. We shall be there in another hour at most. Now we ride back to Valencia, southeast across the plains. It is farther but a faster ride until the end. My task is done and I am less likely to be sought out going south. We can travel by boat from Valencia to Barcelona. A boat awaits us."

"Why did you kill that man?" Stephen said, in a low whisper. Ramón sighed and was silent a very long while.

"The less you know the better," he said, finally.

"I know you made your way into a house in Madrid and slit a man's throat whilst he slept," Stephen said. "I just do not know whom nor why."

"How do you know that?"

"We rode four hundred miles to get here and he did not cry out. He was dead before he could awaken and scream," Stephen said. "Only slitting his throat whilst he slept could achieve such a thing, the way we slaughter animals. You did not come four hundred miles to wound him."

"Oh, _el_   _meu fill_..." Ramón said slowly, "I would not tell you only to protect you, but you already know too much. That man was Andreu Porras, of Amposta, far to the south, almost in Valencia. He was a traitor to _la Germandad, la Lliga_ and _la Confederació_ as well. He was selling information about all three groups to Castilian military intelligence, which is why he was in Madrid. You remember Bartomeo Puig, from Tarragona who was at Ullastret at Christmas? The man who brought the cases of Tarragona and gave you and la Laetitia each a sack of _mandarinas_?" Stephen nodded. "He was lured to Zaragoza, taken up, interrogated and tortured. They killed him," Ramón said somberly. "The message came to us through a reliable source as to where Porras would be tonight and someone had to act quickly. Every single man in _la_ _Germandad, la Confederació_ and _la Lliga_ was at risk of a similar fate as poor Puig."

"Why you, _Padrí_?"

"Because I had the ability and the means to so act. "

"You do not think you shall be arrested?"

"No, I believe not, assuming we can make it back to the Catalan border undetected. In any case, I have an alibi. We were with the prelate of Sant Cugat for the last three days and tomorrow as well."

"How many people know that you did this?"

"Besides you? Two. L'Enric, of course and the other one is a priest." Stephen's eyes widened. This revelation was the most startling fact he had learned that night; a priest, presumably Father Bonaventura, knew that Ramón set out to Madrid to commit premeditated murder and would act to help him to accomplish it.

"But what about the horses and all the arrangements?"

"A little misinformation spread about correctly is a powerful thing, Esteve. " Stephen sat in silence.

 _"Padrí,"_ Stephen said very slowly and quietly, "what you did is a mortal sin." They sat saying nothing for a very long time and finally Ramón exhaled deeply before he spoke.

" _Fillol_ , our land, our country, our Catalunya is for all of us, for you and for me and for every Catalan, our mother. The Castilians hate us. They may kill us with impunity in our own land. They steal our homes and farms. They built la Ciutadella so they might attack us from within and they bombard our beautiful Barcelona every few years in an attempt to debilitate us so completely that we cannot resist their rape of us, this all whilst taxing us at four times the rate of the rest of Spain. They have hated us for over three hundred years now. They libel and slander us, they assert their God-given right to rule over us. All we wanted from them was to be left alone, for our mother to be left to exist in peace as their neighbour. The Castilians take the fruits of our labour to enrich themselves, to oppress us further and to make themselves more powerful throughout Europe and the New World. They had and have pure contempt for our language, our history, our customs and our laws. They assert their own supremacy and that we should become like them if we wish to be treated like anything other than their despised vassals. They demand our fealty to not only their King but to their central Castilian government to reign over us as well and claim that their government, too, is the creation and will of God Himself. They created a fiction called _España_ and then seek to blot us out, to pretend that we are them or better, that they are us, that our land is really their land, that we never existed as us, as Catalans. They sought in 1714 to punish us as harshly as possible an example for the rest of Iberia. They have raped and robbed and bled our mother on a daily basis for over sixty years. They say openly that only with arms can they cleanse our mother's blood of the evil that infects her, that evil being our existence as Catalans, that identity which must be wiped out for them to continue their travesty that _"todoth thomoth ethpañoleth."_ ” Ramón said, in a caricature of Castilian, making every “s” sound into a lisping "th." “Esteve, does a man of honour stand by and do nothing when someone who posed as a friend, as a brother, as a fellow son of our mother, who has no honour whatever, betrays us and wilfully acts to aid the ones who come to rape and rob and bleed our mother?"

"No," Stephen said. He was still a child but en Ramón's words resonated with his own most deeply held sensibilities.

"Sometimes, because of circumstances we have no control over, we have no choice but to sin to do what is our duty, _el meu fill_. I will die for our country if it is necessary, but I will kill as well. I killed a man tonight because it was my duty to _la Germandad_ and to my mother. I sinned and I will go and be confessed in Barcelona. This is the complex and ugly reality of life in our country, Esteve, not nursery rhymes about _seny_. There are bad men with no sense of honour who do very bad things. Our struggle is over three hundred years old and I will go to my grave knowing I did everything in my power for _el nostre país,_ which is no more than any son of Catalunya regards as his duty. Some day, I know that you, too, will do your duty." Ramón stood up. "Now let us go, Esteve. Surely, your bed is calling to you."

As though in a dream, Stephen mounted the horse once more, his head full of en Ramón's impassioned words, feeling he had taken a very large step into the world of men and that he was no longer wholly a child. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. He fell asleep as Ramón tied the horse at the post at their inn at Loeches, lifting Stephen out of the saddle to carry him to bed.


End file.
